Of Knights and Their Mares
by a Fighter and a Dreamer
Summary: Oneshot. Team RWBY is stranded in Forever Fall under nearly constant attack from Grimm. But, sometimes, sleep is worse than reality, as Ruby soon discovers. "I have never died in a nightmare." Intended to be friendship, but could be read as White Rose.


_Have no fear; Yukiko is here!_

_First of all, I should say that, although it was written as purely friendship, it could very easily be read or interpreted as flat-out White Rose. If that bothers you, feel free to leave. Even though I shouldn't even have to put this warning here because that's a stupid thing for people to get worked up about, but I digress._

_Also, I should say that this actually started out as a school paper, but I adored it, so I decided to turn it into a fic for me to post. ...yay? So, if you see parts where gender pronouns are inaccurate or weird names show up, that's probably why, although I think I caught all of those._

_But enough of that; let's get this show on the road!_

* * *

><p><strong>Of Knights and Their Mares<strong>

The sound of the safety being released was the loudest _click_ I'd ever heard.

I'd long since grown used to the constant roars that defined this seemingly endless battle. That was nothing; a mere mosquito buzzing in my ear. Just grab a gun and flip off the safety, though, and that single quiet _click_ roused me faster than the cacophonous racket of fighting ever could. My reactions were so violent and so potent as a wake-up call that this became the warning signal meant to call me from slumber directly into battle.

And this was how I was signalled, in the soft glow of May's gentle dawn, by a familiar violet-eyed blonde vixen. Yang wore her hair long as always, much to Weiss and Blake's chagrin, but, at their insistence, she had tied the cumbersome golden locks into a high ponytail. Her already scanty clothing was torn and sullied with blood and grime, but she still managed to look casually beautiful, like always. Sometimes, I envied her for that. Other times, I preferred to be able to talk to Jaune without him not-so-subtly turning away or walk down the halls without swooning boys clustering around me.

Yang had knelt next to me and cocked her gauntlets, which was enough to basically snatch me by the hair and pull me out of the void of sleep. She gestured for me to follow suit and ready Crescent Rose, but there was no need. One moment, I was sprawled out on the ravaged land in an exhausted unconsciousness; the next, I was in a mad dash to my teammates, my fingers somehow already too slick with perspiration to operate my darling properly. As they fumbled at the clip (How many bullets left? Not enough; not enough), I tried desperately to restrain my pulse, which had transitioned so quickly from slow to erratic that my chest and wrists ached. I flipped the safety and winced at its mocking _click. _As usual, no one else seemed to hear.

For a moment, I wondered dully how long I'd been out. I'd definitely been tired enough after 36 straight hours of combat to conk out for the remainder of eternity. I somehow doubted the enemy would give us that much respite, though; and, even if they did, that would be our chance to make a break for it. "About time," Weiss muttered as I joined them, but her voice was dull and lacked the irritation it once would have carried. Any form of impatience we'd managed to retain at first had been stripped of us by the time we hit our second week without the backup we'd been promised.

By the second day, we considered ourselves exhausted; I doubted we really knew the meaning of the word at that point. At the third day, we officially declared ammo a precious commodity and limited ourselves to only shooting when absolutely necessary. By the end of the first week, we had gathered that the reinforcements we were awaiting weren't going to arrive any time soon. Then, we'd started to travel, hoping to get ourselves to safety without them, although our progress was painstakingly slow. We'd stop to slaughter more Grimm or rest only when necessary, but that was practically every other step we took.

Blake had been hit hardest by the infinite hordes that swarmed us day and night. With her excellent senses and night vision, she was pretty much the only member of the team who could serve as a night watch. And, seeing as Forever Fall's night was just over half of the day, she got even less sleep than our already-meager amounts. It showed. It showed very clearly in the pitch-black bags under her eyes and the pallid tone of her skin, as well as the disheveled mess that was her hair. The bow she'd once worn for protection had long since been discarded, and her dark violet ears were showing.

Weiss was probably the least affected since her weapon didn't call for quite so much wild movement, and even she was a mess; far different from her usual immaculate self. Her ponytail, already off-kilter, was now sagging dejectedly, as if even it was fighting the urge to pass out on the spot. Her white combat skirt and pale blue bolero were both torn, and Myrtenaster was depressingly close to running out of dust, as evidenced by the tiny colored pinpricks that were usually long, solid bars.

I wanted to ask them how long I'd been sleeping, scared that I'd let myself leave my team alone for too long. But then the Grimm were already upon us, looking notably less bedraggled than we as they emerged from the dense red and black of the forest. "Get ready," Blake muttered in her quiet rasp of a voice, more to herself than to me.

My half-lidded eyes snapped open, flashing a silver that was noticeably brighter than what could be considered "gray," almost as if they were literally made out of the precious metal...

..._and I was a fly flitting by, insignificant and unnoticed, and then a wild animal bearing down on my prey. No claw grazed me; no fang brushed my skin; no ghost of pain struck me down. I was invincible. I was untouchable. Crescent Rose became nothing but a paintbrush; one that painted crimson on a screaming canvas as I wove through the countless Beowolves and the few Ursai, watching each monster fall until the ground until it was strewn with not just vivid red leaves but also mangled black corpses. I felt my blade swiftly slice off the head of the last enemy, punted its body aside..._

...and keeled over, my breaths suddenly rapid and harsh. A wave of agony hit me like a bullet train: fast and hard. It took a second for my brain to properly absorb that _by God, it __**hurt**_, and a strangled cry wrenched itself free of my throat the instant it did.

By the time Yang found her way to me, practically wading through translucent black smoke and lazily-drifting rose petals, I'd already crumpled to the ground, my fingers clamping tightly to the wound on my side as it oozed blood through my fingers. My corset was already dripping with blood, and I pondered incredulously just how long ago I'd been hit; it was a shallow wound that probably wouldn't even scar, so it must've taken time to accumulate this much crimson on my already-red dress. Yang flung my arm over her shoulder and dragged me aside, motioning for Weiss to follow her.

Glancing up at the sky through the canopy that stretched up over us, I was unsurprised to notice that it was now at least after noon. The battles never seemed as long while you were fighting and every second passed ten times as fast. I was hauled over to a tree and propped up against it, Yang keeping her grip on my arm to keep me from collapsing. We couldn't afford to lose a man here, especially not since I was the leader of team RWBY. Although hardly instrumental to our success, my decisions were a huge help since I had final verdict; without me, there would be no one to make every choice final.

Weiss whispered something under her breath that was either irritated or concerned; I could never tell with her. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Blake glance at me worriedly before Yang consoled her with a nonchalant wave of the hand. Some of the tension drained from her shoulders and I had to force the urge to smile back down. As happy as it made me that the usually stoic and removed Blake cared about my welfare, smiling in this sort of a situation just seemed wrong. Even Yang had long since given up on making lame puns about our predicament, and that was a hard feat to accomplish.

As Blake leaped off to make sure no more hordes of Grimm were forthcoming, Weiss hiked up my corset to expose my injury and began to wind a bandage around it. I was under no misconceptions about our supplies, and I wondered dimly if it was wise to be dressing my wound so thoroughly. Then again, I supposed, Weiss didn't go half-way when attending to injuries; she said that was what gave people deadly infections. When she pulled the cloth tight and cinched it firmly around my abdomen, I grunted, my eyes screwing shut. A day ago, I would've probably been whining about how it was too tight. Now, I thought it better to save my breath. Weiss still offered me a woeful smile, which I returned. "Thank you, Weiss," I murmured, surprised by the wheeze in my own voice. She just nodded curtly, any sign of caring obliterated from her face, and turned to go aid Blake in her scouting.

Once we'd determined that the endless stream of Grimm had finally abated, we began to push forward, each one swaying on her feet. Yang kept her arm locked in mine, keeping me relatively upright, as my side protested rather violently every time I so much as twitched the wrong way. We were constantly on edge; constantly fearing another ambush. No system was without its flaws, and ours was no different. That became apparent when Blake finally collapsed, stumbling to the ground and, for a moment, trying to force herself up before passing out in a dead faint. No one was surprised; in a less serious situation, Yang and I would probably be betting on how long it would take the stubborn Faunus to admit defeat.

Sighing lugubriously, Weiss hefted Blake into her arms and carefully lay her against a tree. "We'd better stop here," she offered, stating the obvious but not really caring. "Who takes first watch?"

"I will," Yang muttered simply, not a hint of teasing in her voice. A week or two ago, there would have been harmless, friendly squabbling and mindless chatter. Today, we just plopped ourselves down on the ground without a word left to say. Glancing over at Yang as I untangled my arm from hers, I felt myself scowl ever-so-slightly. Sleep wasn't an option at the moment; or, at least, I wished it wasn't. The thought of subjecting myself to the vivid imagination I was cursed with by putting myself at the mercy of my mind was appalling. But remaining awake anywhere near Yang would surely result in lots of prodding until I was finally forced to either spill the beans or give in and get some sleep. Gritting my teeth, I forced myself onto stumbling feet and relocated myself to a nearby tree.

For a moment, I thought my plan had succeeded as Yang perched herself precariously high in a nearby tree, in a position to wake us at a moment's notice if she spotted signs of Grimm activity. Then a groan bubbled up in my throat as I heard the telltale crunching of leaves that signalled her arrival. Although a refuge from my sister was always nice to have, it was even worse to be pestered by her. Offering me a sidelong glance, Weiss dumped herself unceremoniously to the ground next to me. A wave of envy swelled in my stomach and I quickly suppressed it. Her distinctive hair was mussed and rumpled, as had grown to be the usual, but not beaded with sweat like mine was from the effort of simply staggering a few paces. "Are you going to be able to fight tomorrow?" she asked me, her voice very subtly tinted with concern that she almost managed to drown in fake irritation. I could only muster up the energy to nod, but she gave me a small smile for my efforts, followed closely by the sentence I'd been dreading.

"Maybe you should get some sleep."

I shrugged uncommittingly, but that answer didn't seem to satisfy her. She frowned, giving me the same look she gave Blake when she was trying to reach past her cryptic comments and latch on to the true meaning of her words. I was tempted to squirm under her intense, scrutinizing gaze, but I suppressed that instinct; that would just show her that something was definitely wrong. "What's wrong with sleep?" she asked finally.

She wasn't letting this one go, I realized with no shortage of exasperation. Besides, I felt somewhat compelled to respond to that one. Easier said than done; my mouth was dry as a desert. "Honestly? Reality is somewhat less horrifying than sleep at the moment," I managed in a raspy, strained voice.

The heiress winced sympathetically; the knowledge that she understood was reassuring, but not quite enough to sway me. "Let me guess. At least you don't die while awake, right?" A small laugh, almost humorless, escaped her, and I found myself blinking rapidly in surprise. "I guess, sometimes, your brain's out to get you more than the Grimm are." Huh. She'd almost opened up to me. _That_ was new. Not _bad_, of course. But very new.

How to respond without sounding suspicious, how to respond without sounding suspicious… "I've never died in a nightmare," I replied truthfully with a nonchalant shrug.

She fixed me with a meaningful look with stern azure eyes, knowing that wasn't all there was to it, and I responded an exaggerated roll of my own. "Alright, alright, I'm sleeping. Jeez." It was pointless trying to argue with her; when she set her mind to something, she was like a screw too big for its socket: no matter how you tried, she was unyielding and wouldn't conform. Turning onto my uninjured side and ignoring the twinge of pain that accompanied the movement, I slowly closed my eyes.

In the capable hands of my partner and friend, I collapsed face-first into a fitful slumber.

* * *

><p><em>I am in Vale now, right in the middle of the city. No one is around. I try to spot civilians, but no one is around. I warily search for enemies, but no one is around.<em>

_In a flash, it has already happened. Clusters of White Fang members and Torchwick's soldiers are hustling towards me, their weapons at the ready. I desperately call for my team._

_No one is around._

'Weiss,' _I think, _'Weiss will surely be here,' _but even she fails to appear even fleetingly. Reality stabs me in the chest with a dry laugh, but I feel no mirth. The soldiers are circling closer and closer like birds of prey, all focused and honing in on me. "There she is," they're muttering to each other, as if they know me personally. "There's the madman. Her reign of terror ends here." I wonder what they mean. Don't they know that __**they're**_ _the bad guys here? Don't they know that I'm innocent?_

_They open fire._

_But I do not die._

_I have a Crescent Rose now, and some ammo; I am certain neither was there before, but I am not bothered. This time, the laugh comes from my own mouth. A sadistic light sets ablaze in my eyes as I lurch forward, scythe flashing a macabre glint across the cobblestone. I twirl Crescent Rose in a masterful arc and a man falls dead, his torso plopping off of his legs onto the ground. More gunshots don't seem to even do anything, as if their guns are all filled with blanks, and I grin, swinging my darling around without a care in the world as Faunus and human heads alike become separated from their bodies and acquainted with the ground. Their puny bodies are no match for me, snapping like toothpicks under the sheer force of my sweetheart._

_I'm only a blur now as I cut through the forces with ease; the ease with which a child kicks a ball. Their blood is all over me, all over me with more coming, but I'm not even fazed as it splatters over my face, sullying my otherwise unmarred skin. I just keep killing, killing, killing. I do not stop. Gunshots resound endlessly in the emptiness of the square, but none hit me, because I'm invincible; I'm untouchable. I do not stop._

_The last enemy falls and a throng of people fills the streets, calling my name in celebratory voices and singing joyously. They thank me in foreign tongues that I cannot place and yet can somehow understand. I recognize the old man from that dust shop; the owner of that bakery down the street; some children I've seen playing around Vale._

_I do not stop._

_I'm mowing through the civilians now, but they do not, cannot, fight back. I am rewarded not with gunfire but with petrified screams. I run out of ammo, and I do not stop. Crescent Rose clatters to the ground, and I do not stop. I kill with my bare hands now; I kill whatever I wish to kill, and I wish to kill all. I do not stop._

_Then my team __**is**_ _there, watching on with horrified eyes; some of them are violently sick, and I don't blame them, but the me who killed all of the civilians does. It's not just my team, though; it's Team JNPR; Team SSSN; Team CFVY. I tear through their ranks, Crescent Rose spontaneously returned to me; they somehow don't seem able to defend themselves, even though their weapons are right there. _'Fight back,' _I try to cry desperately, knowing that they can stop me; they can end this nightmare. _'Please, just fight back. Kill me!'

_But they don't fight back. They just stand there as I senselessly slaughter them, and each has their own little insult to throw at me, because I know all of their names, and the ones whose names I know are always the ones who have something to say about my actions. I start with CFVY, and I almost cry when Velvet starts to, but I don't think I'm capable at the moment. Then I move on to SSSN, and, as their bodies hit the ground, I flinch, anticipating retribution that never comes._

_Then it's JNPR; I go after Pyrhha first, and she whispers, eyes cold and detached, "I never expected this from you. I can't believe you fooled me." Then she's dead, collapsing to the ground almost daintily, as if she had only been softly pushed rather than mercilessly slashed by a large scythe._

_Ren and Nora go down together, and I'm really not surprised at all. Nora looks at me like a puppy that had been kicked too many times, her eyes wide and hurt. "But we were going to eat cookies together," she whimpers. Ren is simply staring at her wordlessly, but the harsh glare on his face is enough to spell out the words he wishes he was saying: you've betrayed us; you're a traitor; you're a __**murderer. **__They are bisected in unison, their weapons clattering uselessly to the ground._

_Jaune almost doesn't get a chance to say anything, because I'm getting worked up now, striking before the anticipated tribune comes. As I pull the wickedly curved edge of my darling out of his chest, he manages to grind out in a cracking voice, "I thought we were __**friends**_…"

_I had hoped and prayed that it would take him a long time to fall; long enough for this nightmare to end; for even the non-stop barrage of Grimm would be better than this fate. But his tumble is short and sweet, and then the only people left alive are team RWBY and the few civilians whom I have yet to murdur (_'Flee, for the love of God; run away!')_._

_I've had this nightmare before in the past few weeks, and I expect to go after Weiss first. That's how it usually happens: the last one to go is Yang, who has the most bad things to say, even going so far as to disown me as a sister. But, this time, Blake is my first target. Her eyes glacial, she shakes her head in disgust. "You've failed us," she tells me in a quiet, dangerous voice. "You've failed as team leader, and you've failed as a friend." Then she topples, her lifeless body sprawling itself out on the cobblestone road like a puppet with its strings cut._

_Then I go for Yang, who is watching me with the usual glower. "I can't believe I used to call you my sister," she snaps, her words like bullets to my already-tattered heart. "You're a pathetic excuse for a person, __**sis. **__I can't stand to even look at you." Then she falls apart like a broken doll, blood oozing from the gashes I've torn across her skin. She falls backwards, slumping against the wall, and, ironically, the vacant gaze of her violet eyes falls on me accusingly, as if to remind me exactly who I've just killed._

_This time, Weiss is the last to go, watching me with big blue eyes that I expect to be disappointed like all the rest, but are not. They're just wide and pleading and fearful, and I wish for once that the insults would continue, because those take my mind off of what my hands are doing. Even if they tear me into shreds, even if they shatter my heart further with every syllable, it makes me think less about the crimson that has long since coated my arms._

_I step forward slowly, for gone are the days of being only a blur. My face is a terrifying mix of sadism and sick enjoyment. I step forward and she steps back in tandem, but, eventually, her back collides with the stone wall behind her. She's cornered and she knows it, and still I draw ever closer, ever closer. As I creep forward, her breathing hitches; she presses herself further into the stone, as if hoping to disappear, but there's no escape from this nightmare, as I have been brutally reminded again and again. Slowly, I brandish Crescent Rose, turning it so that the barrel points right at her neck while the blade presses lightly into her throat. She convulsively cranes her head back, but accomplishes nothing. The weapon just meanders down lazily to point directly at her chest and, even though I'm supposedly in control of myself, I still hold my breath, wondering if I'm going to pull the trigger._

_I do._

_I think that Weiss will turn on me, now, like the dream-people always do just before they die. She's usually repulsed; she snarls with a glare, "You were never a friend to me." Sometimes, if my mind is feeling particularly cruel, I get to see her writhe in pain as she dies, all with the knowledge that __**I **__did this; it was_ _**me.**_

_But she doesn't turn on me. She slowly sags against the wall, pain etched across her features, staring blankly into the distance, before her wandering gaze comes to a rest upon me. I steel myself for another round of incriminations, but they do not come. "This," she gasps, "is n-not... your fault." She shakily reaches out her hand to comfort me, but falls short, her arm too weak to support itself. As it falls back to her side, she slowly slides down the wall until she hits the ground, her pained, fearful, soul-piercing blue eyes still locked firmly onto mine. With one last whimper, more of a breath than anything, those eyes close and she goes limp, the tiara falling out of her hair and clanging to the ground as if in slow-motion._

_The civilians can't stop screaming, so I finish what I started. They scream even more, begging and pleading for their lives, but I don't stop. It's so much easier this way, when I don't know who I'm killing, and something deep within me knows that I'm selfish for thinking so, but I'm glad that I've never met them before. Still, I don't stop._

_I don't stop._

_Not until no one is around._

_Then I stop._

_I stop and laugh._

_I laugh and laugh and laugh, because that was fun._

_I have never died in a nightmare._

* * *

><p><em>Click.<em>

I was awake in a flash, but I didn't let out a horrified gasp like I'd feared. In a way, that was worse; so much worse, because it meant that I wasn't afraid, and I wasn't. I liked it.

It was fun.

Through my wavering vision, I saw Weiss standing above me, having spun the revolver of Myrtenaster to imitate the sound of a safety. She looked at me with those blue eyes _slowly losing life as she tries to cling to her last scraps of vitality _and offered me her hand. But I couldn't take it; I _couldn't, _because all I could _see _was _trembling fingers that reached out to console me before they fell away without the strength to hold themselves._

Weiss must have noticed the way I was looking at her hand, because, the next thing I knew, she was asking me, "Are you okay?" I still couldn't take her hand, not when mine were so stained in blood, but I took it anyways, because I refused to let her know something was wrong. I was afraid that she'd be worried about me when she should be worried about herself _("This is n-not… your fault.")_.

She hauled me to my feet and immediately noticed that something was off, anyways, as if my shell-shocked reaction to her hand hadn't clued her in. "I don't suppose you would tell me what's wrong," she murmured, and I offered a dry stare response. "Don't look at me like that!" she hissed. "It's a legitimate question!" She then proceeded to turn and almost pout. Not quite; her expression was less juvenile than that. But close.

I wanted to be mad at him. I wanted nothing more than to stay angry, because that made it easier to deal with the _face contorting in agony as my bullet pierced her chest_. But it was impossible, and I found myself smiling involuntarily, which got me a victorious smirk in response. "Yeah, something's wrong, okay?" I whispered in reply, but refused to reveal more. When she turned away, satisfied, I added under my breath, "And you're making it worse."

Someone shouted a warning; I don't know if it was Yang or Blake or Weiss; hell, it could've been me. We scampered to the sides of our partners, weapons at the ready, and prepared for another onslaught of attacks. Then I was grasping at my gun with slippery hands (slippery with sweat or blood?), and my heart was slamming repeatedly at my ribcage (apprehension or twisted amusement?), and I realized with a start that I was having trouble distinguishing what was from my nightmare and what was occurring in all actuality.

Weiss must've seen my plight-I doubted it was hard to gather from the dazed look in my eyes-because she leaned closer and whispered, "We're like the knights riding in to beat the bad guys." I hadn't expected it; hadn't thought that she'd warm up to me any time soon, but it was clear that she remembered of my penchant for relating things to fairy tales, and she thought that she could help me, so she did. She was right. It helped. Just a little, but it helped. I tossed a grateful smile in her general direction and hoped she'd caught it, because there was no time to double-check. I could steal a glimpse of fresh faces through the dense vegetation: new Grimm, charging wildly for their next prey and, once again, looking distinctly less weary than we.

It was time. Time to get that glassy look in my eyes. To run out into the battlefield, guns blazing and scythe swinging, and turn my enemies into corpses on the ground. It was time to reenact my nightmare.

It was time to wonder if I was really the knight galloping in on my noble steed. Or, perhaps, I don't do this for the victory; perhaps I do it for the bloodshed. I've never tried to hide my enjoyment of fighting; it was always just a part of me that everyone would have to accept, and I had no guilt about it.

Sometimes, I think about the joy that nightmare-me finds in killing so many people, and about the joy that the real me finds in killing so many creatures, and I think that, maybe, deep down?

Maybe I'm the bad guy.

The sound of the safety being released was the loudest _click_ I'd ever heard.

* * *

><p><em>Poor Ruby! Who could do such a thing to such a sweet little-oh wait... that was me, wasn't it? Um... oops?<em>

_Anyways, yes, as you can see, it ended up very White Rose-y. Funnily enough, I don't even really ship White Rose, partly because I don't see it and partly because I ship Weiss with Neptune. I really don't ship Ruby with anyone. Well... I did ship her with Jaune at first, because they were an adorable couple, but then Pyrhha happened, and I will sink with that ship if need be, so it sort of overruled Ruby. I could maybe sort of see it with Ren, but not really, and I WILL DESTROY (S)HE WHO COMES BETWEEN NORA AND REN. Other than that, I can't really see her with anyone else but maaaaybe Blake, although I don't ship that either because I ship Blake with Sun already, so... yeah. Oh! And also sort of with Velvet, but I don't know enough about Velvet to ship it too hard. Poor Ruby; all of the viable love interests are taken!_

_Anyways, please leave me a review if you liked it. Or if it sucked, in which case I want feedback even more._

_With non-creepy author/reader love,  
>-Yukiko<em>


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